A Pin's Fee
by The Third Marauder
Summary: Peter wonders if it will forever be Neal Before and Neal After. The events between the end of Season One and the beginning of Season Two.


**Disclaimer: ****White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin and the USA Network. Any characters, places, and/or events you recognize do not belong to me, and I am not trying to profit off any of this. The story summary, and beginning set-up come from Amonitrate's story The Priming Game. The title was taken from the Bard: "I do not set my life at a pin's fee;" ~Hamlet 1.4.67.  
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* * *

Before Peter can even process what is going on, he is lurching forward.

Neal had been thrown to the ground in the explosion, but the agent is less than surprised to find him scrambling to his feet by the time he reaches him. And he thanks God that the conman is not thinking straight, because there would be no stopping Neal from getting to the plane, to _Kate_, otherwise. Peter is a no fool. He is not much stronger than Neal, and definitely not faster, and not even a maximum-security prison had been enough to thwart a determined Neal from running to Kate.

Of course, then the "No!" rips out of Neal's throat, terrible and inhuman and so unlike anything that Peter had ever heard out of the conman that he almost loses his grip.

Neal's eyes, focused on the fire engulfing the plane, are wild and animalistic. His expression is one of pure agony, and all Peter can think about when looking into such utter desperation is how to get through to his CI. "Neal, stop it! It's gone—no one could have survived that—"

"Kate," Neal breathes—moans, really, if Peter is being honest – and it is so full of hopelessness and sorrow that Peter falls silent and just focuses on keeping the man in his arms from escaping.

Neal, to his credit, seems to eventually recognize that he is not escaping Peter's grasp. When the fire department and paramedics finally arrive after what feels like hours, the movement from Neal against Peter's hold is not from struggling, but shaking.

* * *

Peter has to fight the paramedics to get onto the ambulance with Neal. He doesn't have his badge, and it takes a phone call with Jones for the lead paramedic to finally acquiesce.

Once they get in, Neal collapses in on himself. He sits there in dazed detachment, his eyes glassy and unfocussed, and Peter, who has never seen Neal not be hyperaware of his surroundings, doesn't know how to react.

The paramedic leans over. "He's in shock, sir. But it doesn't look like there are any injuries. He'll be all right."

He wraps Neal in a blanket, and then moves away. Peter takes his spot, and stretches a hand to clasp Neal's shoulder. At the contact Neal flinches, hard, his head turning quickly toward Peter as if he has forgotten where he is.

Peter's hand falls into his lap immediately.

* * *

Aside from the disorientation, Neal seems fine when they pull up to the emergency room entrance. When he stands to follow Peter out, though, his legs buckle, and he drops to his knees.

Peter is at a crouch next to him in a second. Neal blinks and seems to focus in on his face. He opens his mouth. Then, he pitches forward in a dead faint. Peter catches him and hands him off for the hospital staff to cart him into one of the examination rooms.

It's the last time Peter sees Neal until he gets his badge back.

* * *

The phone rings soon after they arrive at the hospital. Caller ID shows that it's Hughes. Jones must have told him what happened.

"Burke," Peter answers reluctantly.

The ASAC wastes no time. "Are you with Caffrey?"

"We're at the hospital, sir."

"Are you ok?"

"Neither of us is injured." It's a deflection that would make Neal proud, Peter thinks.

There is momentary silence on the end as Hughes exhales slowly.

Then, "I'm calling the Marshalls to your location, so they can take Caffrey into custody. Jones will be with them. I need you to come in—"

"Reese, you can't let—"

"They're saying Caffrey hacked his anklet and tried to run." Hughes states flatly.

"Because OPR offered him a deal—" Peter started hotly.

"I'm not saying I believe them, Peter. But you don't have a badge, and you can't look like you are getting involved. I need you to not interfere with the Marshall's work and come into the office to make your statement. Are we understood?"

Peter deflates. "Yes, sir."

"I'll see you soon."

The phone clicks off. With one last look at the hospital doors Neal disappeared behind, Peter heads out.

* * *

The moment Peter is done making his statement he approaches Diana.

"What's going on?"

"OPR took control over Fowler's arrest," she says softly. "They're handling all the materials involved in his arrest."

Peter curses under his breath. "The music box?"

"They wanted to file that into evidence."

"Of course, they did. Did you give it to them?"

Diana hesitates. "I replaced the box with a fake," she admits, finally.

Peter looks at her and shakes his head in wonder, "Diana, you are the most competent agent I have ever met."

"Only because I learned from the best," she grins demurely. "I have the real one. I put it—"

"Don't tell me!" Peter interrupts quickly.

Diana looks at him, confused.

"It's better that I don't know more." He clears his throat. "What's going on with Neal? Have they questioned him?"

"The Marshalls tried."

Peter's lips turn into a wry smile. "Neal's always been good at giving run-arounds and non-answers."

"It's not that. He's not answering at all." His confusion must have shown, because Diana is uncomfortably explaining, "Boss, they haven't been able to get him to speak."

"He can't talk?" Peter demands, concerned.

She shakes her head. "He _won't_ talk."

"That's ridiculous. He was—"

That is when Peter realizes that Neal had not said a word since the airstrip.

* * *

Diana is called away just then, so it is another hour before they can meet again.

"They're taking him back to prison tonight," are her first words.

"Has he still not—"

She shakes her head.

"What do the Marshall's think?"

"They're not worried." She doesn't meet his gaze straight on. "Neal's file says that he is always quiet when he gets brought in."

"Yeah, well, off-the-record, he never shuts up." Peter says dryly, trying to force a grin. It falls flat.

Diana continues, "They assume he is just trying to avoid implicating himself in anything."

Peter snorts, "Neal could talk circles around them."

"That's what I told them." She plays with her hands before finally looking up. "Boss, do you know why he's—" her hands gesture expressively.

There is a pause.

"Yeah," Peter admits finally, his expression troubled. "I think I do."

* * *

The first time Peter arrests Neal, they decide to stick him in an FBI holding cell over night before charging him. It is a risky move. Neal is a skilled escape artist, and the FBI cells are nowhere near as secure as a prison ones. But the chance to interrogate the conman, perhaps get him to confess to some of his other crimes, is too tantalizing to pass up.

Peter takes a few hours to finish all the paperwork and phone-calls that come with an arrest. In that time, they have agents in and out of Neal's cell, questioning him and offering him deals. Forget a confession, none of them manage to get a word out of him. Even Sara Ellis has a go, and knowing the words she had for the grifter, it must have taken considerable effort to stay quiet under that kind of provocation.

He remembers being disappointed by this petulant act of silence, remembers thinking it was far below the standards by which he measured the world-class conman. Because Peter knows that, though Neal's file might have called him a quiet con, a man content to let the elegance and audaciousness of his crimes speak for him, Neal is a conversationalist at heart. So, when Jones tells him that not only is Neal not talking, he is also refusing all meals and drinks offered to him, Peter is understandably infuriated.

"Whatever game you're playing stops now," are Peter's first words when he marches into the holding cell.

Neal doesn't even acknowledge Peter's entrance. He seems lost to a memory, but Peter is too angry to think. He slams his hands down on the table between them, and, finally, Neal seems to register he has company.

He blinks slowly, and Peter has to remind himself that this apparent mess of vulnerability and resignation is, in fact, one of the greatest conmen in the world before he starts to get drawn in. "Well?" He demands as he sits down. "What are you doing?"

Neal stays silent, but there is a small upturn of his lips, as if Peter's confusion is amusing to him. It probably is.

"Do you think if you starve yourself, we'll let you out?" The agent demands. "Because we won't."

The smile disappears. There is something powerful, something poignant that Peter can't identify in Neal's expression, and Peter knows he is losing him to another memory.

"Neal!" He exclaims, and the conman is once again startled out his revelry. Peter pulls the wrapped sandwich out of the bag it was in and pushes it across the table.

Finally, there is a reaction from Neal. A glimpse of exasperation and amusement crosses his face as if to say, _come on, Peter_,

"I'm not leaving until you eat this," Peter pushes, and, as if to prove his point, sits down.

And then Neal makes eye-contact with Peter, and there is pain and loss and so much sorrow that Peter can't help but look away. Neal's words are quiet but firm. "I can still taste her, Peter. She's here," his fingers are running across his lips. "I just got her back. I can't let her go again."

Peter doesn't press for more words than that, because, honestly, there was nothing left to say. He takes the sandwich out with him and grabs Jones.

"Read Caffrey his charges and have him transferred to Rikers today. We're not going to get anything out of him."

He doesn't let Jones question him, and instead retreats to his office. It isn't until later that night, when he is in Elizabeth's soothing embrace, that he is able to dispel the memory of a haunted Neal from his mind

* * *

Hughes forbids Peter from visiting Neal until he gets his badge back. Says something about Peter not doing anything to jeopardize his career, and then orders Peter out of the office until the hearing with the Department of Justice.

Not that it matters, because Diana tells Peter that Neal is not accepting any visitors, anyway. She's been keeping an eye on Neal for him and comes by every night to give updates:

"Caffrey's talking again."

"Caffrey managed to trade his way into a private cell."

"Caffrey finagled a position in the prison library."

"Caffrey got into a fight, today."

The last one throws Peter for a loop. "What?" he says before he can think, not sure whether he heard properly.

"He apparently jumped one of the gangbangers in the yard."

Peter's eyes are wide. Neal _never_ fought. "Is he ok—?"

"He's fine. The guy didn't even fight back. Report says he let Caffrey get a few punches in before having the other inmates pull him off. Wouldn't even tell the guards who his assailant was. Apparent Caffrey is well liked among the prison population," she says bemusedly.

Peter grins in spite of himself. "It _would_ take Neal less than four days to charm the entire prison."

He had never really thought about how Neal had managed his time in prison after his first arrest. He had conducted a cursory check every year, after he had gotten his birthday cards, but it had never occurred to him how a nonviolent offender like Neal had managed to survive four years in a Supermax without any injuries or major incidents. In hindsight, he might have expected the result. Neal had always been talented at playing the system; it was part of what made him a world-class con.

Which makes him wonder all the more, "Why today? What happened _today_ that made him lose his control?"

Diana comes back the next day with the answer. Neal had been visited by the Department of Justice and asked to give his testimony of the events surrounding Kate's death.

* * *

Diana sneaks a recording of the DOJ interview the next night, and the two of them watch it on Peter's couch.

It is strange to see Neal in prison scrubs again after the months of fitted suits. Despite the locale, the conman seems calm. He is sitting straight, an easy smile is playing across his face, and to anyone else he would be the picture of nonchalance. But Peter now knows Neal well enough to see the other signs, too. His body is held a little too rigidly, and there is a hollowness to his eyes that Peter has only ever seen once before – the second time he caught him.

For the first couple minutes the Investigative Committee Chair – Agent Kilner, Diana supplies readily— does everything right. He makes small talk about painters and art and almost gets Neal to relax into his chair when he makes the first mistake.

"You know, I used to work white collar in San Francisco," he says and Neal stiffens. It's very slight and Kilner misses it because he continues talking. "We had this case in 2004 with a fake Matisse. No idea how our thief got in or out. The curator kept insisting it was one of the greatest forgeries he had ever seen. It was a real masterpiece of a crime."

Thing was, this should have been the right play, should have provoked a sly grin and falsely modest denial. But, Neal doesn't respond.

Peter begins to pay closer attention after that.

Kilner sits across the table from Neal and clasps his hands together. "I figure you know why I'm here. Might as well get on with it. Please describe the events leading to the death of," he glances at the file in front of him, "Katherine Moreau."

Neal nods, but his expression goes completely blank.

It's the first time Peter is hearing the entire story, as well, and he sits engrossed. Neal gives the broad strokes, explains how he made the deal with Fowler, Kate for the music box, and then proceeds to gloss over how he acquired the box in the first place. He moves to the events at the tarmac, and Peter is a little shaken to see how indifferently Neal talks about the explosion, as if he has completely dissociated from the event.

All in all, it comes across as flat, like someone reading out a report, and Peter can't help but notice the irony that the most truthful interrogation Neal has probably ever given sounds like a lie, like its rehearsed, like he's keeping things hidden.

* * *

Peter's own testimony with the DOJ a day later goes, if not well, then at least well enough to be reinstated and get his badge back. He also manages to wrangle a vague promise that Neal can return on his old deal, on the anklet under his supervision.

The moment he leaves the hearing, he heads for Rikers to tell Neal the good news.

It doesn't even cross his mind that Neal might say no.

* * *

"I don't get it." Peter tells Elizabeth that night over dinner.

Elizabeth, angel that she is, listens to the story patiently and without response.

"He's the one who asked for this damned deal in the first place, and now he doesn't want it?" He stabs his fork into a piece of chicken forcefully.

She reaches across the table and puts her hand on his, squeezing. He drops the utensil and looks down at his lap.

"He said it would be like trading one prison for another." He meets her gaze, eyes helpless and tentative.

"Oh, hon, he didn't mean that."

"I know it started off as a functional relationship, that he was only using me to look for Kate. But we worked so well together, El." The words are spilling out, tripping over one another, "And I thought, if not friends or partners, at least I was more than mark, more than just someone he was exploiting."

It's a fear he's had ever since the Howser Clinic, ever since he realized how far he was willing to go for Neal.

Elizabeth is watching him with sympathetic eyes but her lips are twitching, as if she's fighting back amusement.

He is all too familiar with the expression and hazards a, "I'm being ridiculous?"

She nods. "Neal is hurt. He lost Kate and feels betrayed by the FBI, and he's going to need time to come to terms with everything. But he's smart. You _know _that. He _will_ come to his senses soon. Just be patient."

As always, it was the reassurance he needed, and he felt his anxiety dissipate from his shoulders. He lifted their entwined hands and placed a light kiss on the back of hers before making to clear the table.

She grips his hand, refusing to let him leave.

"Peter." Her tone was serious. "He isn't angry at you."

She sounds fiercely convinced of her own words, and Peter willingly falls into that belief.

* * *

Except as the weeks go by, Peter realizes that El was wrong.

It takes time.

Neal is not one of the world's best conman for nothing, and despite how well Peter now knows the man, he is still quite able to disguise his true emotional state.

* * *

Peter's visits see them quickly slipping back into an easy banter.

"How's prison treating you?"

"You know, it's growing on me. The library got a couple more books and last night's meatloaf was a gastronomical experience."

"The orange definitely brings out your eyes," Peter offers dryly.

"I've always found scrubs to be comfortable. And people tend to be so much more forthcoming when they think you're a medical professional."

Peter chokes slightly and looks alarmed.

Neal laughs. "Don't worry, Peter. It would have been distastefully unoriginal to pull one of Frank Abignale's. Hypothetically. So, what do you have for me today?"

Peter clicks the briefcase open and hands Neal the first file to peruse.

And, it seems like everything is normal between them. He brings cases, and Neal offers insight while making disparaging comments like, "Trust you Feds to completely muck this one up," or, "And, yet again, the FBI fails to recognize the complete obvious."

Except the barbs are a little too pointed and tense to be entirely innocuous, and the more Peter pays attention, the more he realizes that this tension seems to extend through Neal's entire body while they are together.

Neal is more than upset.

He is angry. Very, very angry, and it is taking all of his not-considerable skill to keep it from showing. And this worries Peter more than the initial lack of speech, more than Neal's uncharacteristic obtuseness in denying the deal, because this anger is directionless. Peter can't tell if it is aimed at Kate's murderer, the FBI, or even at himself. It is just there, festering under the conman's skin, a shadow coloring everything Neal says and does.

* * *

It's been six weeks since the plane explosion and the higher-ups are getting antsy.

"Look, Peter, they never trusted Caffrey to begin with," Hughes explains patiently, after Peter learns that they are rethinking the anklet-deal. "He's a flight-risk and his numerous escapes while on anklet in your custody has only affirmed that."

"He's useful," Peter all but growls in response. "Our closure rate has skyrocketed since bringing him in as a consultant—"

"And you're still consulting him while he's in prison," Hughes points out. "I never said I agreed with them, but you have to admit that from their perspective this is a far more palatable option."

"He won't help us if there's nothing in it for him."

Hughes shrugged, "We can negotiate a different deal. Perhaps some time commuted off his sentence. It's not as if he's jumping to get out of prison right now, anyway!"

Peter's expression is thunderous and Hughes sighs.

"Ok, Peter. Get him to agree to a reinstatement of the anklet and I'll get the board to offer another trial run. But you need to prove that he is an invaluable member of the team, and, most importantly, that he will play by the book."

* * *

"It's a limited offer, Mozzie. They won't keep it open forever."

Peter had wrangled a meeting with Mozzie to give him the updates.

"So tell him," the conman says shortly, arms crossed.

"He won't listen to me. Every time I bring it up he closes off."

"And you think _I_ will be able to convince him?" Mozzie asks incredulously. "Neal is the most stubborn person I have ever met."

"So you're going to let him rot in there?"

"Don't you dare, Suit. You're the reason he's in there in the first place. I want him out more than you do."

Peter's first reaction is indignation, but he forces himself to stay calm.

"Please," he manages through gritted teeth. "Just go tomorrow and talk to him."

"Tomorrow's Tuesday."

"Is there somewhere else you need to be?"

Mozzie looks incredulous. "It's _Tuesday_," he said stressing the day.

Neal's general visiting day. If Mozzie, as his attorney, requested a meeting, Neal would lose other visiting rights from laymen until next week. Not that Neal was accepting any visitors, anyway.

He tells Mozzie as much, and the conman throws his hands into the air. Peter catches something about the stupidity of suits, and, finally, his frustration wins out.

"You know what, fine. Don't try to help him. I'll get him out myself."

He spins on his heel and resolutely marches away.

* * *

"What do you mean no?" Peter is shouting furiously at the apologetic guard. "I'm his case agent. He is required to meet with me."

Because, of course, Neal is the most difficult person on the planet and would illegally refuse Peter's demand. And, of course, being Neal Caffrey, he has already conned the prison guards into abetting his wrongdoings.

"Sir," the officer looks nervous, but there is a hint of stubbornness to his eyes. "I know it's not my place, but I really don't think today is ideal—"

Peter is seeing red. "You're right. It's not your place. Bring him here. He doesn't have to speak if he doesn't want to. He can even demand his attorney's presence. But he doesn't get to say no."

The officer bows his head. Not ten minutes later, he is escorting Neal into the small meeting room.

Neal looks up at entry, and his breathing has paused. There is something hopeful in his expression as he scans the room, as if he was expecting something joyous, something miraculous. Then he sees Peter, and it crumbles, cycling through utter despair and dejection, before settling into something unrecognizable.

Neal's unsettling blue eyes, usually warm and engaging, are frigid. He holds his body in perfect control, and all Peter can see is Neal on the cliff, eyes accusing but movements fluid and lethal as he effortlessly made two perfect skeet shots without any preparation. And the FBI agent is suddenly hyperaware of how quickly grace can turn into power, how easy it is to think nonviolent means not dangerous.

"I'm sorry," he chokes out. He doesn't know why he's apologizing or even what he's apologizing for. He just knows that he is missing something, that he is way out of his depth, and that all of his senses are screaming at him to _get_ _out_. "I – we can do this later."

And he retreats immediately out of the room.

* * *

He doesn't talk to El when he comes home. Just calls out as he enters that he is exhausted and heading straight to bed.

It is perhaps a testament to how much these weeks have affected him that she doesn't question it.

The thing is, he couldn't bear to look at Elizabeth, right now. Because Neal's eyes have been following him all day. Haunting. Wrathful. Unyielding.

And if Peter went to El, El with her coloring so similar to Neal's, all he would see would be those eyes.

Cold.

And so, so very blue.

* * *

He pays a visit to June the next day.

Partly because he has no way of getting in touch with Mozzie, but also because he thinks he has a more likely chance of getting answers out of June.

"Why don't you go visit him?"

June had invited Peter into the sitting room at the entrance, but no further. Her veneer is polite, and Peter is forced to remember that she only allowed his company in the first place because of Neal, that she has no love for the law either. She surveys him coolly.

"He won't accept visitors."

"He wouldn't say no to you," Peter pushes.

He can see the moment where June wants to deny it just to frustrate him, but they both know it is true. "No," she says with a slight smile and moist eyes, "No he wouldn't. He would consider it terribly impolite."

Peter scoffs slightly at that, because Neal apparently had no qualms about being rude to him. Junes reacts to the sound, and he quickly covers it with a, "So why don't you go?"

June's eyes have narrowed, her lips in a thin line. "You tried to visit him, yesterday, didn't you?"

"I'm his case agent," Peter defends.

Junes closes off. "I'd like you to leave, Agent Burke. We have nothing more to say to one another."

Peter's jaw clenches. As June is brushing through the door, he can't help himself.

"I thought you and Mozzie were his friends. How can you just stand by and let him waste his life away in there? How can you not fight to get him out?"

June stills at the doorway. When she turns around, her eyes are blazing.

"You think we want to see him in that prison?" The words are so quiet that Peter almost has to strain to listen. "You think I can sleep knowing that darling boy, _my _boy is stuck in that dreadful place? You think that every second we are not wishing he is out, wishing that he is home, with us?

"But, unlike you, _Agent Burke_," and the title is spit out like a poison, "we respect Neal. We respect his decisions, respect his ability to _choose_, respect him even when we disagree with him, and do everything we can to support him. I couldn't bring him home only to watch you stifle him, watch you stop him from finding answers, finding who killed Kate."

"I'm not stopping the investigation. But I can't let Neal go off-book on this and throw his life away for this girl who has already ruined him twice."

June pauses. When she resumes, her tone is almost conversational. "I hear you punched Agent Fowler when he went after Elizabeth."

"He raided her shop—"

"He put her business behind a couple thousand dollars, maybe embarrassed her in front of some clients, and you punched him. Now imagine this. Imagine he kidnapped her, held her against her will for months, used her to blackmail you into doing something for him. And then, just when you think you might be reunited, she explodes right in front of your eyes. Imagine your rage and helplessness. Imagine what you want to do to Fowler now, if you were willing to punch him for simply touching her. And imagine someone is telling you that you can't.

"You wonder if Neal blames you for Kate's death, don't you?" June's smile is sharp and cruel. "If it were me, I would. But Neal doesn't. He is too kind a person for that, and frankly, you are a fool and you don't deserve him. And I am not going to use his soft-heartedness for me to persuade him to come out, not when it would just be trading one prison for another."

_One prison for another_. The words make Peter flinch.

June makes to leave. With her back in the doorway, she delivers the final blow. "Tuesday. That's when Kate used to visit. Every week for almost four years. And neither Mozzie nor I were going to ruin that memory for him."

Then she brushes out, leaving a shaken Peter standing in her wake.

* * *

That night Peter dreams he is alone on the tarmac. It's snowing, and icing, and the sky is an all-too-unreal blue.

And then there's someone with him. Elizabeth is holding his arm, and the two of them are watching a plane disappear into the suddenly clear horizon.

When he wakes up, he tells El everything.

She just holds him, and tells him she loves him and that she knows he will do the right thing.

* * *

"Boss, Caffrey and the lawyer had a meeting today. It was a long one. They talked for over an hour."

Peter nods. "Thanks."

Diana makes to leave, but he stops her.

"Diana," he bites his lip and then goes ahead with his decision. "No more updates on Caffrey. He'll come out when he's ready. Until then, we have a lot of work to do. Call the team into the conference room."

She grins and offers a sloppy salute. "Yes, boss."

* * *

Of course, because Neal's life revolved around making Peter's difficult, he has Mozzie contact him the next day with a request for a meeting after the weekend.

So, on Monday, Peter heads back to Rikers.

"Peter," the conman is smiling when he sits down. It's a real smile, reaching the eyes and everything, and it is difficult for Peter to even remember the iciness from a week ago in the face of this Caffrey.

Because Neal was clearly not mentioning their last meeting, Peter didn't either. "You wanted to meet?"

"Does your offer of our old deal still stand?"

There is a moment when Peter wants to say no. Because he's not an idiot. He knows Neal isn't better, knows that this is just an act, knows that if he looks close enough, there will be flashes of Neal's anger and depression behind this carefully constructed easy-going veneer. And he will admit that a small part of him is scared of what furious Neal might be capable of.

But June is right. Neal deserves this chance, and Peter has no right to stop him.

Of course, there is the thought that if Peter denies this, Neal will just escape, anyway. He has done it before, and Peter has no doubt that the brilliant conman would be able to do it again, except this time, the agent wouldn't have any Kate with which to track him.

So he steels himself and steeples his hands under his chin, "We'll have to get the right case. The people upstairs are going to need some convincing of your usefulness, so it'll have to be one they feel we couldn't solve without you."

Neal's grin only widens, and the agent demands:

"What?"

"I hear there's an architect in town."

"What?" This time it is one of confusion.

The conman's eyes are sparkling. "You should have someone call Midtown Mutual. Ask if they've heard anything unusual."

Peter knows Neal too well to think he will get anything useful out of him in this playful mood. So he gets up. "I'll see you on Wednesday?"

"I think we'll have a lot to talk about."

Neal is still sitting there when Peter leaves, his entire semblance carefree and cheerful and just a little too sharp.

* * *

"Ok, how did you know?"

Neal smirks and Peter hastily intercepts, "I know, I know, it's what you do."

He spreads the files before them. "He's good."

"He's suburb," Neal corrects. "What do the people upstairs think about it?"

"They're intrigued. And they absolutely do not want a robbery like this in New York. They think we could use you on this one."

Neal leans back, looking extremely satisfied.

"So when can I get out?"

"The paperwork was submitted yesterday. It should be all set by the start of next week. We just have a slight problem."

"Oh?" Neal says, not looking at all worried.

"The bank refuses to admit they have a problem. They don't want our agents going over their security; they said it was unbreakable."

Neal is smiling wolfishly, his eyes gleaming.

"You have an idea?"

"I might," he teases.

"Neal."

The conman leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, "How would you feel about me robbing a bank?"

His expression, on the surface, is eager and mischievous. But, now, there is a determination, too. A drive and a thirst and a darkness that was never there before.

And Peter wonders if it will forever be Neal Before and Neal After.

* * *

_Finis_

* * *

**Author's Note. **

**This has been months in the making. I've always been curious about the transition between season one and two, I felt like they skipped over a lot of the emotional trauma that all the characters must have gone through. Also, I was a little frustrated by how callously Peter handled the entire Kate situation – I found a lot of his actions, especially when you compared it to his behavior whenever Elizabeth was in danger, to be extremely hypocritical. That said, I might have gone a little overboard with June's tirade, so I hope you will all look at it in light of that. And I like to think I redeemed Peter a little at the end, because he really is a good, albeit too idealistic, character.**

**I also wanted to use this to explore more of Neal and Kate's relationship. Because to Neal, she was the one. More than any of the other females Neal has been with since the show has started - he never went to the same lengths for any of them that he went for Kate. So obviously her death would destroy him, and I wanted to play with the emotions of that.  
**

**Anyway, I hope this filled in some blanks for people and that you all enjoyed it. I tried to keep the characters as in character as possible. **

**Thank you for reading, and please take the time to review. All comments and feedback, be they constructive and/or positive, are welcome. **

**Cheers,**

**TTM**


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